Alive and Kicking
by Morganperidot
Summary: Spoilers sort of for episode 17 of Season 8. Renee tells the story of what really happened.
1. Chapter 1

Alive and Kicking

By Morganperidot

Sure, that was the story we told them, Jack and I, a tale spun around too-brief passion, sudden violence, emotional torment, and unexpected death. Jack told it with the words and facial expressions of a man once again heartbroken, cast adrift, and enraged. And I told it with the cold body of a corpse.

But not all stories are true; in fact, most of them aren't, even if we think they are when we tell them. Most often all you have is bits and pieces here and there, and sometimes when you put those pieces together they add up to a picture that isn't entirely accurate, like a reflection in a broken mirror. Everything is there, but not the way it should be, not matching up totally right, and that makes all the difference.

First off, I recognized the Russian on sight. I knew exactly who he was. I never forget a face, especially not one that had to do with an operation like the one I was on with the Russian mob. I knew who he was, and I knew he would know me. And I understood immediately that there was only one place that could possibly lead.

But it was true that I didn't follow my concerns then, and not directly afterward either; I knew they were important, more important than what was foremost in my mind, but other needs were more pressing. Although certainly less urgent, those needs were much more appealing. The opportunity to kiss Jack, to touch him and have him touch me the way I had dreamed of but had never expected to have actually occur in the real time of our real lives, all of that was something I couldn't let slip away no matter what the danger.

Later, though, when the passion had cooled, my head cleared and my priorities realigned. "Jack," I said seriously, looking him straight in the eyes. My body was next to his, with soft skin, firm muscle, and warmth wrapping us in a sense of endless present that I didn't want to puncture even though I knew I had to. Like always, the ridiculous specter of life-and-death danger hung over us like some cartoon version of the Sword of Damocles, refusing to give us even this brief moment of peace.

"Not now," Jack said softly as he touched my face in a gentle way that no other man had. His fingertips made my whole body tingle, and the look in his eyes kept my lips still a few seconds longer than they should have been. He kissed me, my lips and then my neck, and I felt my thoughts start to dispel like clouds in the clear blue sky, unconnected, just drifting away. Part of me wanted to believe that the danger didn't really matter, and this moment was enough, if there weren't going to be any more. I kissed him back, and I held him against me, so close that I felt his breath and heard the beating of his heart. This man is mine, I thought, and that finally brought me back, solidifying the moment back into continuum of time.

I told Jack about the Russian, who he was and what he had most likely been doing. I didn't have to tell Jack the rest of it, my assumptions about what was going to happen next. I saw it click through his mind in those brilliant eyes of his. He didn't say a word, just slid off the bed and pulled something out from underneath it. Our eyes met for a moment, and we knew the risks. It was that simple, and yet there was nothing at all simple about it. The future hung in the balance on the thinnest of threads.

Jack left the bedroom and went into the kitchen; that part was true as well. But there was a gun in his hand, hidden from the view of the window. And I went into the bedroom doorway with the phone in one hand and a gun in the other with the sheet wrapped around me, but when those bullets hit me the vest Jack had given me kept them from tearing open my chest, although I still felt one or two hit home elsewhere before I stumbled back and collapsed on the bedroom floor. I heard Jack return fire, but for a period of time I couldn't move or barely even catch my breath. I irrationally believed I was dying despite the precautions, and it was so stupid, when we had been aware of it all and we could have done things differently…

"Renee, look at me," Jack said, and I heard fear in his tone, an unprotected, fully vulnerable, core-of-his-being terror that made me open the eyes I hadn't even realized I'd closed. There was blood on his hands and on his shirt, and in an instant I was certain that my vest hadn't worked. I knew it was over; I knew… "It's mine," he said, and I understood that, with a pain that hurt more than the bullets had.

"What?" I asked, but he swept me up in his arms. My vision started to gray out and I realized then that I was indeed seriously wounded after all; blood was pouring down my leg, but it didn't matter; all I could see through my dimming vision were the blood stains on Jack's shirt. "Jack, are you…"

"We have to go," he said, moving as fast as he could with me in his arms. I remembered something about the femoral artery, saw a picture of it from some old text book in my mind, but I soon lost that image, along with time, sensation, and consciousness.


	2. Chapter 2

Alive and Kicking: Chapter 2

By Morganperidot

I woke alone in a dark room. I felt both exhausted and disoriented; for several seconds, I couldn't form coherent thoughts. It occurred to me that I might be dreaming, dead, or somewhere in between, but I could make no sense of it. Instead of fighting it I gave in, sliding beneath the darkness to a soft landing below.

When I woke again the room was still dark, but I knew I was in a hospital. I could hear the quiet beeping of the monitoring machine and smell the disinfectant hanging heavily in the air. My instincts told me that I still should be concerned for my safety, but something else in the back of my mind quieted them. That quieting force was a strange sensation of security, of knowing that if Jack was alive it didn't matter if someone was still out there trying to kill me; it would all turn out OK eventually. Sure, I knew that people around Jack died; in fact, most of them did, especially those that found their way into his bed. I knew about Nina killing his wife, Nina's own death at Jack's hand, and Audrey winding up alive but in bad shape. There was a huge risk to loving Jack, but it was one I was willing to take.

I heard the musical ringtone of a cell phone to my right and spotted it lying on a little table beside the bed. I reached over and felt the bandage on my leg as I moved it against the sheets. So I had been wounded, enough for a hospital stay, which frankly wasn't that bad of a deal, as I could have easily wound up in the morgue. I remembered feeling the impact of the bullets against the bulletproof vest; with that many rounds hitting me, there was no way I could have survived. Jack certainly had amazing skills, and he would have done anything he could. But would not have been enough.

Of course I saw the irony of the situation; when Jack had first come back into my life I had been on a steep self-destructive course. At one point I had even looked a Russian in the eyes and told him to kill me. I'm not that certain that I really wanted to die, but my life had spiraled out of control to such an extent that I couldn't imagine it ever getting back on track. Then somehow, being with Jack, working with him and seeing how he worked, how he functioned, turned me back around. I started to see that the road I was on was no longer a dead end but instead it was a crossroads, and I had options for which path I wanted to take. One of those paths had Jack there with me, and at some point, mostly subconsciously, I had chosen to take that one. For me to be killed right after we finally let our guards down with one another and forged a truer, deeper bond would have been just too much cosmic overkill for the universe to bestow.

And yet, in the moment when I rolled back on the bed with the phone in my hand I realized that I didn't know if Jack had survived the sniper's attack. He had said the blood on his shirt was his not mine, and he hadn't been wearing a vest. How seriously had he been injured? The phone continued its musical bleating, and I shoved the negative possibilities out of my mind. The number was blocked on the caller ID, so I answered generically with simply, "Hello?"

"How are you?"

I didn't need the speaker to identify himself; I knew immediately that it was Jack. I was still careful though, because I didn't know what kind of situation either of us was in at the moment. "OK, I think," I said. Then a thought came to me – why hadn't I seen any doctors, nurses, or other hospital personnel? There were no other sounds either, aside from the beeping of the machine next to me. What was going on?

"Renee?"

"Where are you, Jack?" I asked, trying to keep my tone even so he couldn't hear my rising concern.

"Nearby," he said.

"What's going on?" I asked. "Are you OK?"

"Just some flesh wounds," Jack said. His tone was even as well, not telling me anything more than his vague words.

"Jack…"

"I'll be there soon," he said. He paused for a moment, not a hesitation, just a pause, so I waited it out. When he spoke again his voice was softer. "I'll explain things when I get there," he said.

I sighed and leaned back against the pillows on the bed. It didn't seem like I had much choice other than to wait. "OK," I said.


	3. Chapter 3

Alive and Kicking: Chapter 3

By Morganperidot

For a while I sat there on the bed surfing the internet on the cell phone and playing with its apps. When I got tired of that I pulled aside the blankets on the bed and looked at my bandaged right leg. The white wrapping was wound around my leg just below the knee, and I realized how lucky I was that my knee hadn't been shattered. I looked at the time on the phone; more than half hour had passed since I spoke with Jack, and I still hadn't seen or heard any hospital personnel. There also wasn't any call button for nurse assistance that I could find anywhere near the bed. So I had no one to ask whether I should stay off the wounded leg. Not that I necessarily would have listened, but it would have been nice to at least have someone to ask.

Regardless, I'd had enough of sitting there in the dark waiting for something to happen. I wasn't the type who enjoyed waiting and having things brought to her; if things didn't get themselves under way then I took it upon myself to catalyze them into doing so. I moved the bedclothes and slid my legs to the left, which was the side by the door. I gently set my feet on the floor and stood slowly, testing the injured leg. It hurt, but not enough to keep me in that room. However, when I realized I was dressed in a hospital gown, that was another issue. I flipped on the light switch by the door and looked around the room for a closet, but I didn't see one. Modesty wasn't that much of an issue on my part, but I figured it would probably be harder to sneak out without street clothes. I also didn't have a weapon, which I might need out in the hallway. I stood there for a moment looking at the door and wondering what I should do. I knew what Jack would do, and I did it, yanking open the door.

I was stunned for a moment to find someone standing there in the hallway, but I was too relieved to see Jack there dressed all in black to let it put me off my game for long. Without a word, he slipped into the room and closed the door. I felt my heart beat faster to have him beside me again, close enough to touch. For a long moment he didn't say anything, just looked in my eyes, and then I felt my leg start to give, and he caught me with his strong hands before I crumpled to the floor like some swooning female from bygone days. "You should be in bed," he said.

"If you'll come with me," I replied, not sure how he would respond to the flippancy or the brazenness of the comment. He still had me in his grip, and I didn't know if he would crush me, shake me, or kiss me. But the longer this strange moment endured, the more I knew the last of these was the most likely. I had no idea really what Jack's feelings were for me – assuming he had any – but our physical chemistry was undeniable.

His hold on me loosened, and his lips curled slightly, barely enough to notice, but I did. He guided me back over to the bed, and I sat down on the side of it. "They think you're dead," Jack said.

"The Russians?" I asked.

"Everyone," he replied.

"What?" I said. "Seriously?" For some reason I was more relieved by this than appalled. It felt somehow freeing to know that the person I had been no longer existed.

"Except for Chloe," Jack said. "I needed her help with the computer issues." He sat down beside me. "This facility it for people who need medical attention before going into witness protection…"

"Whoa," I said. "I'm not going into the WPP and getting deposited in some corn field in Idaho."

"I think it would be a potato field in Idaho," Jack said in a deadpan tone, as if this was the appropriate professional response.

"I don't care if it's a field of 24-carat-gold cow dung," I said. "I'm not doing it."

Jack had his smile. "OK," he said. "That wasn't what I had in mind anyway." He sighed and stood up. "It would probably be a good idea for you to change your appearance, at least while you're recovering from the gunshot wound. Most likely they won't be looking for you; Chloe covered all the bases that could be covered. But it's not always possible to know who's watching and when."

The way he said this made me think that he was remembering our adventure at his apartment – the one after we made love, that was – when the sniper had fired on us through the windows. He looked away, and I could sense he was still troubled by that and maybe blamed himself for it. If anything, I was more to blame for not dealing with the situation as soon as I recognized the Russian. Instead I had opted for the roll in the hay with Jack, and despite what happened afterward and was still going on I didn't regret that. But Jack…who knew? I was tired of playing games. "Do you regret what we did?" I asked.

He didn't meet my gaze. "This isn't a good time to…"

"It's a simple question, Jack," I said. "All it requires is a simple answer."

"It isn't simple…"

"Which means yes," I said.

"Don't put words in my mouth," Jack said, with a sudden flash of anger in his eyes and tone that surprised me. "I need to get you out of here and on your way. That's all that matters."

"You aren't responsible for what happened," I said. "I'm a grown woman and a…"

"I've noticed," Jack said quietly.

His words bridged the gap for a moment, and I let the silence fall behind them. Then I said, "You're OK?"

"Just cuts from the glass," Jack said. He looked directly at me then and said, "We need to go."

"I can't go anywhere dressed like this," I said, indicating the hospital gown with a wave of my hand. "It's not exactly current fashion."

"We're just going down the hall," Jack said. "They'll have new clothes." He turned toward the door and then looked back at me. "I do regret that things turned out this way," he said.

"They could have been worse," I said.

"I know," he replied. "That's the only thing I'm thankful for."

He held out his hand to help me up off the bed, and I took it, grasping it firmly in mine. "I want to be part of getting the Russians, Jack," I said. "This doesn't have to sideline me completely."

Jack put his arm around me, at first as though to steady me on my injured leg, but then coming closer than socially acceptable. "I'm not pushing you out of this," he said. "I need you."

"To get the Russians," I said, my voice a bit breathier than usual.

Jack paused for a moment, a meaningful pause long enough to let me know that there was something more than business between us without being all gushy about it with the words. I smiled, but I didn't say a word either. He helped me to the door and then down the hall to another room where a young woman was clearly waiting for us, and not entirely patiently. Jack slipped out with a few words about talking with me later; I ruefully watched him close the door before embarking on the new adventure I was to undergo.


End file.
